


Break Me, Ruin Me, Make Me Feel Whole

by etherimaginary



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 01:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6217324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etherimaginary/pseuds/etherimaginary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm sorRY. You know, for someone who's OTP is Kaisoo, I sure do like to make them suffer a lot.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Break Me, Ruin Me, Make Me Feel Whole

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorRY. You know, for someone who's OTP is Kaisoo, I sure do like to make them suffer a lot.

It wasn’t easy to fake a smile. It was, in fact, utterly exhausting, and not even in such a way that felt accomplished. No, faking a smile exhausted Kyungsoo in a way that hollowed him, more so than the bouts of anxiety, or the hours spent curled up in his closet sobbing. It left him empty, numb, and he was never sure if the feeling was better or worse than the fear. He was broken, he was sure of it; a dissonance waiting for his unruly chords to be strung together into a harmony he had long since lost.

Smiling wasn’t the only leech to his mood either; a lot of things in Kyungsoo’s life drained him, drained until he was a brittle shell, waiting patiently to be filled with something, _anything_. Waking up extra early to cover up the dark bruises that peppered his skin, mentally preparing himself for the day ahead, the deep breath he took before returning home. He wasn’t sure if he could even call it that anymore. He lived there yes, but to him it was nothing more than a house, nothing more than a cage that spat on the title 'home'. Kyungsoo was tired. That was why it was so difficult to appear happy, so difficult to pretend like nothing was wrong when every evening he faced his front door in apprehension, holding his breath as he slid the key into the lock as silently as possible. It was odd, to him; his continued attempt at subtlety. He had learned many times over that it didn’t really matter how quiet he was, his pleas to the universe for an empty home- _house_ \- going unanswered every time. Jongin was always waiting for him, sometimes in a good mood, sometimes bad, and the unknown scared Kyungsoo more than the days when he knew he was coming home to a hurricane. It was why his fingers traced the familiar knots and spirals of the wooden door for minutes on end, contemplating how long he could put off actually opening it. It was a waiting game he always ended up losing.

“You’re home?” Jongin looked up from his laptop, a warm smile on his face. Kyungsoo nodded, not making a sound, trying to read past Jongin’s bright eyes for whatever was lurking underneath. He didn’t, as he usually did, rise to greet Kyungsoo at the door, which was worrying, but Kyungsoo quickly convinced himself that it was merely due to his settled position on the couch. Jongin stared at him for a moment longer before glancing at the clock, a gentle frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re late.”

Slipping the bag from his shoulders, Kyungsoo padded softly towards the couch, trying to still his shaking hands. He had always detested being tardy, regardless of where he was going or who he was meeting, but coming home late? That was at the top of his ‘do not fucking do’ list. Coming home late meant he had to repay every second, every moment lost that he owed to Jongin, and he had to repay it in tears and welts.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, curling up next to Jongin. His brain screamed at him to be quiet, to be small, to be anything Jongin wanted to mold him into. It was easier, really, than trying to sneak away into the bedroom or kitchen, trying to avoid him entirely or postpone the inevitable. Kyungsoo had learned that the hard way. He slipped his fingers between the ones hovering over the laptop keyboard, leaning in to rest his head against Jongin’s shoulder. He could feel himself trembling slightly, and took a deep breath, willing his body to relax. Jongin didn’t like it when he acted afraid, and Kyungsoo begged himself to calm down, lest his boyfriend notice his rolling stomach or erratic heart. Thankfully, the only reply he was graced with was a hum, Jongin shutting the laptop and pulling Kyungsoo closer. His fingers roamed listlessly across the fabric of his shirt, tracing Kyungsoo’s collarbones and plucking lightly at his neck, the skin of which was blotched yellow with fading fingerprint bruises.

It always started like this, so gentle and sweet. It was the calm before the storm, the hush before the world shattered. Love was an odd thing. It was a shadow, a mirage, whispering lies and promises, though the two often seemed to be the same thing. Growing up, Kyungsoo had watched it in movies, heard it sung through the static of the radio, but never was he allowed to touch the surface, never seemed to taste the sweet nectar of infatuation, never found home in someone’s arms. To Kyungsoo, its beauty, its fragile halcyon, was all a lie. To Kyungsoo, love was painful. It was blood and bruises, teeth marks and broken skin. It was tears, aching chests and puffy red eyes, ragged breaths forming pleas that would go unfulfilled. It was, in essence, Jongin.

Why did he stay? It was a question Kyungsoo often caught himself asking; when the sting of alcohol on his wounds brought tears to his eyes, when the only words his swollen lips could form were _why_ and _please_ and _no_. He could walk out, he could leave and pretend to never look back, to let the bruises fade and the scars go untouched. He could be free of Jongin forever, and the thought made him sick. The mere idea of existing, of trying to live without him sent a curling pit of heat pressing against his throat. Because even though it hurt to stay, even though he only made it through the day by the grace of coffee and perhaps too much Advil, he loved Jongin. He couldn’t stop. And at the end of the night, when he had wiped the blood and tears from his face, when he had examined the archipelago of bruises along his body, he would curl up next to Jongin and feel his arms pull him closer, and he would fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. And somehow, despite everything, that made it worth it. It made it worth the concealer, the tears, the hollow feeling. 

Kyungsoo knew how lucky he was, how lucky that someone as beautiful and important and _strong_ as Jongin had chosen someone as small and pathetic as him. And when Jongin whispered I love you, when he begged Kyungsoo not to leave, when his hands were desperately rough with his body and his fingers pressed bruises into his jaw, his growls were nothing short of loving. And his kisses would put back together the pieces he had shattered Kyungsoo into, and the night would wane into morning, and they would do it all over again. Lather, rinse, repeat. Kyungsoo struggled to stay afloat, he fought against the grip on his heart that was pulling him under, drowning him and reviving him, over and over, until he welcomed the water into its lungs if only to have Jongin drag it out. That was why Kyungsoo couldn’t leave. He needed Jongin, needed his love and the poison came with it. Kyungsoo hung on his every word, bent under his every touch, because if Jongin said it would get better, it would, and if Jongin said he loved him, he did. And that was something Kyungsoo simply couldn’t live without.


End file.
